Welcome to book fifteen in the Operation Quickline series. Christmas may be Lisa Wycherly’s favorite time of the year, but then Sid’s shocking encounter with an old friend gets them embroiled in one messy case. With Lisa’s nephew spiraling out of control, it’s looking like a not-so-merry holiday. You can read the latest chapter here, and follow the whole series here.
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Conchetta Ramirez is a saint. There is no other way to describe her. When she first signed on to work for Sid, long before I came along, she was just cleaning and cooking for a single guy who occasionally had a girlfriend to stay for two weeks at the most. Then the single guy had me move in with him. Conchetta took that in stride, then Nick’s arrival. Then my whole family moving in and out of our quiet existence. Not to mention, the dogs and the cats.
As I have noted, things are pretty fluid in December, especially, with either last-minute guests or sudden decisions to go out for dinner or lunch. Conchetta, bless her, takes it all in stride and even seems to enjoy the challenge of our crazy life. Which is why Sid generally cedes control of the kitchen to her. As much as he likes to cook, he does not like doing it day in and day out and is perfectly happy to let Conchetta do it for us.
There is one small fly in the ointment, however. Conchetta does not like sharing the kitchen with Sid. She has to let him use it when he wants. It is, after all, our house, and we are her employer. That doesn’t mean she’s happy about it when Sid wants to start a cooking project while she’s still working.
That Monday, Roxanna Stein was coming to our place, along with Mae, Neil, and Darby. Sy and Stella were also coming, of course, and my parents were already there. Sid had started marinating some chicken to make coq au vin the day before and was putting everything together when Conchetta arrived at ten that morning.
“What are you doing?” she demanded as she hung her raincoat on the hook on the pantry door. It being winter, she was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt over her jeans rather than the usual short-sleeved one. That day’s shirt featured Motley Crue.
“We’re having guests tonight,” Sid said. “I’m making coq au vin.”
“Why? You think I couldn’t have done it?”
“Of course, you could, Conchetta. I just have a specific plan in mind.”
Conchetta rolled her eyes. “That’s fine on a weekend. But it’s Monday.”
“It’s a two-day process, and I want to see it through. It’ll be in the crockpot all day, and I’ll be out of here just as soon as I clean up.”
“And I’ll have to try and find where you put everything.”
Sid and Conchetta have very different ideas on how a kitchen should be organized, and I’m pretty sure Conchetta was still miffed about earlier that fall, when Sid had the pantry rebuilt to include a wine fridge. That was a nasty fight. [It was our house. I still do not understand what part of that she didn’t get. – SEH]
I think that’s when Mama and I left the house. Mama wanted to go Christmas shopping. I had another errand to run, this time to the copier store.
I had finished Quackenbush the week before (I have no idea how), and needed to copy all the parts of it that I might need for my dissertation, and even a few parts that I was pretty sure I wouldn’t need, and, dang it, there was the probability that I was not going to copy something that I would, in fact, need later, and I couldn’t really copy the whole damned thing, or could I? I did. Needless to say, it took a while and repeated trips to the store’s registers so that I could buy more change for their copy machines.
When I finally got back home, Sid had Bob Kinney on the speaker phone in the office. It might be an understatement to say that Bob was freaking out.
“Sid, they served warrants on both my office and my house!” he screamed.
“They didn’t find anything, did they?” Sid said.
“Would I be calling you if they had?” Bob screamed even louder.
“I don’t know,” said Sid. He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “Bob, I understand it’s upsetting, but why are you talking to me about it? Why aren’t you calling Tom? Or Loser?”
“I can’t get a hold of Loser, and Tom’s not home right now.”
“And I can’t do anything about this,” Sid said.
Bob swore. “What the hell else am I supposed to do? I can’t afford a bad rep. The worst of it is, Sid.” He lowered his voice. “They may have something on me. I do like a little bit of pot now and again. I mean, come on. Who doesn’t?”
I flushed. I don’t like smoking pot, but it helps my back pain just enough, and that is the only reason I will occasionally smoke it.
“I understand that,” Sid said, holding onto his patience with both hands. “But that doesn’t change anything. I can’t do anything about this.”
“Just listen,” I mouthed to him.
He shrugged.
“What the hell did that bastard do?” Bob went on. “I know he wanted to come back as himself. But he’s got Federal Agents out to get him and now me.”
“We’re getting harassed, too,” Sid said.
“But we didn’t do anything! All we did is meet with the asshole. One time. You didn’t even stick around.”
“I know.” Sid looked at me again, and I shrugged. “Um. Do you want to talk to him again?”
“I want to wring his scrawny neck.”
Sid smiled. “That does sound like fun. Too bad it would get us into worse trouble. Look, Bob, here’s an idea. Loser said he would come to a party at my place this Saturday. Stella’s going to be there.”
“Stella? Really?”
“Any way you can come down here this weekend? I know Stella would love to see you.”
“I’d really like to see her. Yeah, sure. I’ll be there.”
Sid gave him the details on the party and hung up shortly after.
Esther came by shortly after that, with another floppy disk in her hands.
“I got a line on where Cobb has stashed his money.” She put the floppy on my desk. “Actually, Venkt’s and Whitemore’s money, too.”
“That’s good news,” said Sid. “Any way we can freeze their assets?”
“It’s already done,” said Esther. “I don’t know how, but nobody can get that money.”
“Wouldn’t they each have more than one account, though?” I asked.
“Of course,” Esther said. “I found several, all frozen.”
Sid got up and started pacing. “That might explain the harassment, though. If their accounts are frozen, and they think Loser is behind it, then harassing Loser’s friends might just put enough pressure on Loser to let the money go.”
I looked at him. “So, what do we do about it?”
“Set up another meeting with Loser, I think.” He smiled at Esther. “Thanks for bringing this by.”
“No problem.”
She left, and I’d barely shut the front door when our pagers went off. I went back to the office.
“It’s Lillian,” Sid said, looking at his pager.
He dialed the call and put it on the speakerphone. Lillian wanted to set up a meeting with us and Dale O’Connor. Sid was not thrilled, but arranged for us to meet Dale for dinner at a chain restaurant near us the next night. He also invited Lillian to the Then-Some party for our friends on Saturday. Lillian begged off. She had family obligations. Dale wouldn’t come to the party even if asked because my parents would be there. Dale is the congressman for the district where my parents live. He also tried using my father’s business for one of his operations, and Daddy did not take kindly to it. Okay, he threatened to shoot Dale, and I have to concede that I wish Daddy had.
That evening, Mae and Neil arrived by five-thirty. Darby showed shortly after six with Stella and Sy right behind. Sid got out a cheese plate with bread rounds and put it on the tall, but narrow, antique dresser we have in the dining room on the wall next to the living room. He added a stack of small plates. We don’t put food on any of the end tables in the living room. Even Motley, who is very well-behaved as a general rule, can only resist temptation so long, and Bowser is surprisingly agile when it comes to reaching the top of the dining room table. As Sid opened two bottles of Chablis, I got out the wine glasses and the larger ice bucket for the Chablis and sparkling water.
It was past six-thirty when Roxanna Stein showed up. She was wearing a dark blue suit that, but for the color, looked remarkably like the one she’d worn the Thursday before. Her blouse was a silk ivory, and there was a small, dark stain down the front. She petted the dogs and cooed at the cats. Sy introduced her all around again, pointing out to Darby that Stein represented some significant musicians, names that Darby recognized and gulped at.
Stein took some cheese and a glass of wine and asked Darby how long he’d been playing, if he had any favorite composers, the usual sort of chatter.
“How do you know Sy?” Mae asked casually. Sort of.
“Several of my clients were his proteges at one time or another,” Stein said with a smile. “Our world is a fairly small one, so that’s no surprise. Besides, Sy would blush to say so, but he is pretty big potatoes in our business.”
Which he is. Frank had told me that his textbooks are required reading at a lot of colleges, let alone the sheer number of violinists he has taught over the years.
“Big enough,” said Sy, patting his ample tummy.
“Well, is it time for dinner?” Sid asked.
Everyone agreed, and while Sid worked out the seating arrangements, Mama and I brought in the salads on the serving cart. Sid and I sat at the ends of the table. Mama and Daddy sat on either side of me. Neil sat next to Mama, with Mae next to him, and Stein next to her, and Sid at the end. Darby sat next to Sid and across from Stein, with Sy, then Nick, then Stella, and Daddy. Stein looked at me curiously as I lit the third, pink, candle on the Advent wreath in the center of the table.
Sid passed the bottles of Chablis around. Nick looked at his father, hopefully. Stein saw the look on Nick’s face. Darby was also looking hopeful, too.
“Are you a wine drinker?” she asked.
“Just a little at dinner,” said Nick. “It’s so I don’t go hog-wild.”
“I wish more parents were that sensible,” Stein said, laughing.
“Yeah!” yelped Darby.
“Just a little,” said Mae.
Stein, who also knew Stella fairly well, asked about the music school, and Stella mentioned that Sid was teaching and had a very promising student in Alicia Mendoza. Stein looked over at Sid.
“I’m a pianist, also,” Sid said. “I’m just not a performer.”
As soon as the salads were done, Sid put the dishes on the serving cart, took them to the kitchen, and then returned with the big tureen of coq au vin. Daddy saw to opening two bottles of Burgundy (the real stuff from France) and getting the wine poured. Stein was favorably impressed and said so. But then we finished eating. Mama and I cleared the dishes from the table and returned. Stein got a leather-padded notebook from her briefcase and perched her glasses on the middle of her nose.
“I think the first thing you folks need to understand is that I do not take kids on as clients.” Stein folded her hands on top of the notebook. “I don’t touch anybody who is not out of college and with an established career.”
Darby looked crestfallen.
“In other words,” said Mae, glancing at Sy. “You have nothing to gain or lose by talking to us.”
“Exactly.” Stein looked at Darby. “I know Alex Crispin has been courting you pretty heavily, Darby, and after last Thursday, I know why. He’s not a bad agent, but he’s not the best.”
“He says I should be touring now,” Darby said. “That being the new whiz kid will get me places.”
“Actually, I agree with him,” Stein said.
“You do?” Darby’s mouth hung open.
Mae and Neil looked worried.
Stein held up her finger. “With one important caveat. Only a few dates.”
“But Crispin says I need to be out there, doing as many dates as I can.”
“Well, that’s where we beg to differ,” Stein said, smiling. “Darby, when I saw you Thursday after the concert, you looked pretty tired.”
“I was mostly hungry.” Darby winced. “It’s kind of hard to eat before I play.”
“And you almost passed out in your food,” Mae said.
Darby laughed. “I fell asleep really fast.”
“That’s actually a good sign,” Stein said with a smile. “It means you’re putting your all into your performance. But do you want to feel that way every night, week after week, no weekends off, only a couple weeknights, but on and off planes so fast you can barely keep track of where you are, let alone see anything?”
Darby gulped.
“That’s what Crispin is offering you,” Stein said. “And why we tend to disagree. He overbooks his artists, and at your age, that can be dangerous. You will make some significant money with him. But to be honest, you can get a better agent than him, make almost as much money, and not put your health at risk.”
“You really think so?” Darby asked.
Stein stared him down. “I know so. I took the liberty of contacting a couple of my colleagues in New York. Sy was good enough to overnight them a recording you’d made with Stella this fall. Both are very interested and will be happy to fly out here after the New Year to talk to you and your parents.” She looked over at Mae and Neil. “Seriously, there is no reason not to let Darby do a little touring, principally during the summer when it’s not going to affect his education. It will be good exposure for him and help him to see what he’s getting into with a concert career.” She handed Mae a couple of business cards. “These guys handle young artists. They are focused on growing an artist into his career, not just exploiting him.”
“Do we just send him off with the agent?” Mae looked worried as she glanced at the cards.
“Oh, no. One of you will have to go with him, and it needs to be a parent. However, both of these guys will help you with the ins and outs, and please feel free to call me with any questions you have.” She looked over at Darby again. “You are an exceptionally talented young man. But more than that. You are insanely lucky. You are surrounded by a family that loves you deeply enough not to let you get away with crap and to protect you from the sharks out there. A lot of kids, their parents get blinded by the money and the fame. Or get taken in, themselves, not intending to hurt their kids, but not knowing any better. That’s one of the reasons I do not deal with young artists. I refuse. It’s too heartbreaking to see yet another kid with amazing potential go down in the worst of flames, and it happens all too damned often. Now, I know Crispin’s putting on the pressure, and he does have a point about you needing some more exposure. But be careful with him. You can do better.”
Darby swallowed and nodded.
“Thank you, Roxanna,” Mae said.
Stein left shortly after, thanking Sid for the lovely dinner and giving Sy and Stella each warm hugs.
I was glad that Darby chose to follow his parents home that night. I was not so happy to see him the next afternoon, right before dinner time, mostly because Mae had called me that morning. There had been a nasty fight after they’d gotten home that spilled over into the morning. Mae and Neil saw no reason to talk to Alex Crispin. Darby wanted them to give him a chance.
Darby, however, was not going to talk to us about it. Nick had said that Darby had gone out with some girls that afternoon. Darby was not going to talk to us about that, either. Nor was there much Sid and I could do about it because we had our meeting with Sid’s least favorite person.
“I think I’m in a perfect mood for talking to Dale,” Sid said to me as he drove us over to the restaurant in Brentwood.
“May I beg to differ?” I sighed, looking out at the gaily decorated street. “He pushes all our buttons when things are going great. Now, it will be just that much harder not to smash his face in.”
“At least, he’s not going to ruin a good mood.”
I sighed. “I don’t know why Darby’s listening to that Crispin.”
“Crispin obviously knows how to run a con.” Sid shook his head. “He’s a lot like Loser that way.”
“So, what do we do?”
“There’s not much we can do. If Mae and Neil don’t want to talk to Crispin, that’s their choice.”
“They probably should. We don’t know for sure what he’s telling Darby, so we can’t counteract it effectively.” I glanced at Sid. “Think we could talk to Crispin with Darby?”
“We’ll see. It’s going to be dicey. Darby’s got rehearsal all week with the youth orchestra starting tomorrow. We’ve got this case to deal with and slide past your folks. I still have choir practice and lessons to teach. Plus, we have our party on Saturday to get ready for.”
“You know, you’d think I’d be used to being this busy all the time.”
Sid chuckled as he pulled up to the restaurant’s valet parking.
Dale O’Connor is in his sixties, I think. He’s tall, with broad shoulders, light gray hair around a bald spot that seems to grow every time I see him. His posture is ramrod erect, betraying his earlier career in Army Intelligence. He was all smiles when he saw us, jovially shaking Sid’s hand and kissing my cheek before I could pull away.
“Good to see you guys,” he said. He waved at the waiter and got us seated right away.
“Did Adrienne come down with you?” Sid asked as we looked at our menus. Adrienne is Dale’s wife.
“Hell, no!” Dale laughed with gusto. “Are you kidding? This time of year, and all the malls down here? I’d be broke in a New York second.”
Which was absolute nonsense. Adrienne did love to shop, but Dale not only had plenty of resources to fund it, he took an odd sort of pride in how much she bought, no matter how much he complained about how much it cost him. [Furthermore, we later found out that Adrienne had plenty of her own resources to fund her shopping habit. – SEH]
I pressed my lips together. The waiter arrived. Sid and I each ordered a glass of white wine, while Dale requested a scotch and water, and a plate of mixed appetizers.
“So, why are we here, O’Connor?” Sid asked. “I’m reasonably certain it has nothing to do with the joy of sharing potato skins.”
Dale shrugged and grinned. “May as well make the most of it.”
Dale’s big fantasy was that we were all bosom buddies, the best of friends. Never mind that Sid and I routinely pissed him off. I might also add that Sid does not like potato skins, at least as they are generally prepared in trendy restaurants. He seldom eats potatoes, in general, although he is not averse to eating the skin. But he does have a point that most potato skin appetizers are about the load of sour cream and less about the bits of bacon and cheddar cheese.
When the plate of appetizers arrived, I let Dale and Sid fill their plates first. Dale knew why and piled more food on his plate than he would have usually. He won’t admit it, but my appetite does scare him. I still got the lion’s share of the platter.
Dale continued to evade Sid’s attempts to get the meeting ball rolling until we’d all been served our dinners. Dale had a full rack of ribs. I knew darned well the barbecue was not likely to be that good, and opted for prime rib, which they did rather nicely at that particular chain. Sid got the roasted chicken.
“Okay,” Dale finally said as he gnawed on a rib bone. “The first thing you two are going to want to know is that Peter Venkt very probably killed Stanley Ford. Our guys found recon photos of Ford in Venkt’s place, along with photos of the accident itself that do not match the crime scene photos.”
“Fine,” said Sid. “Venkt’s dead. What good does knowing that do us?”
“It tells you that your friend Louis was right about Cobb and his pals.”
Sid rolled his eyes. “A- we already knew that, and B- how does that help us get Cobb?”
Dale shifted. “Okay. Maybe it doesn’t, except that Venkt was one of his pals.
“Big fat, hairy deal,” said Sid. “I get that we’re not going after a court case here.”
“No, we’re not.” Dale glared at us. “We’re looking at disposal. The good news is you two don’t have to worry about that part.”
“Just setting him up.” I glared back at him.
“As usual, you two don’t get it.” Dale tried to suck the meat off another rib bone. “The guys that have been protecting these bozos are now pretty high up in the Federal government, and I mean next to the Oval Office. That may be why they’re feeling they can take Cobb and Whitemore on. I don’t know. I do know that your friend Renfrew has gotten a copy of their dirt file. Even more significant, in the last few days, Cobb has contacted a couple of his protectors and let them know that if something isn’t done soon, he will unload the dirt.”
“Again, big, fat, hairy deal,” said Sid.
Dale shrugged. “It means Cobb made a backup or two.”
“Duh,” I said. “Are we looking at getting Cobb’s dirt file or taking Cobb down?”
Dale shook his head. “There’s more to it.”
I glanced at Sid. “Like the fact that Cobb’s overseas assets are frozen? As are Venkt’s and Whitemore’s?”
Sid shot me a proud grin.
Dale gasped and cursed. “How did you know that?”
Sid grinned. “You asked us to investigate. We did. What we don’t know is who froze those assets and how.”
“You don’t have Need to Know. I said close to the Oval. You can skip the snooping around there.”
“Come off it, Dale,” Sid snarled. “That’s the whole reason you got us involved in the first place.”
He sighed. “That, and your buddy Renfrew.” Dale shrugged. “He’s been doing me some favors for a while now. Frankly, I was hoping to keep the two of you apart for the rest of your lives. But things happen.”
“Like what?” asked Sid.
“Renfrew wanted help. I told him to ask his old high school buddies.”
Sid looked like he was about to strangle Dale. “What?”
Dale blinked. “I may have hinted that one of my guys was part of that group.”
“So, you risk blowing our cover just to nail some pain in the ass?” Sid was darned near beside himself.
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Dale glared at Sid. “I’ve been after these bastards since… Well, a hell of a long time. Before the war ended. They were and are a stain upon the honor of the U.S. military and are a stain upon our federal law enforcement. You saw what they did to your friend just because he happens to be Black. I’m guessing you’ve run into more of their harassment. I’ll do whatever it takes to nail them. Yeah, your cover is important. But you and Renfrew also have the best chance to get those guys in the crosshairs.”
Sid shook his head and let out a little groan. “Dale, I do not care about your revenge. Yeah, these guys need taking down. I won’t argue that. But it really pisses me off that you keep thinking that you have to play these petty games to get us to cooperate. Just be straight with us, asshole. Okay, so we’re not interested in killing people. You knew that from the beginning. But there are other ways of dealing with this kind of stuff, and we are damned good at it. As long as we know what the hell is going on.”
“That’s why you’re here.” Dale grinned at us.
I have to confess, I came very close to smashing Dale’s face into his plate at that moment. I like to think I am a better person than that, and I usually succeed in not resorting to violence. I did that night. But not by much.
“Is there anything else you’re going to tell us?” Sid asked.
“You don’t need to know anything else.”
“We’ll see about that.” Sid got up. “I think it’s time for us to leave. Thanks for dinner, Dale.”
Dale did have the decency not to yell after us. I was pretty annoyed that I didn’t get to finish my prime rib, but I totally loved sticking Dale with the bill.
Thank you for reading. For more information about the Operation Quickline series, click here.
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